Star Spangled Canvas
by UlurNaga
Summary: A year or two after the events of the battle with Loki, the Avengers have become local heroes and celebrities. A new art exhibition is being opened in their honour as tribute, and one young artist with a talent for painting 'stories' has been chosen to tell theirs. Will her gifts do them justice? Or is this little Irish painter in over her head? Rogers/OC, Stark/OC friendship.


**I shouldn't be posting this, really; I have a Primitive Violation chapter to write and a Primary Mechanisms chapter to start, but this is something that I had on the brain while in Victoria with my sister.**

**I'm on a real Avengers binge lately, and I have totally fallen in LOVE with Steve Rogers/Captain America :D**

**So anyway, here is a 'pilot' chapter for a story idea.**

**It's set POST-Avengers movie, about a year or two after the events of the film, and the Avengers are something of celebrities/local heroes now. So enjoy :)**

_Almost…_

A heavy breath escaped chapped lips, sharp eyes watched the stroke of the brush as it moved across canvas.

_Steady…_

With a gentle, finite hand, the signature scrawl was painted in the corner of the work, a heavy exhale escaping as the artist in question leaned back to admire the work; a fine painting of a beautiful, scenic Japanese landscape. A scream rang out as the sound of a phone rang sharply through the room.

Her hand flew to her heart at the startle the electronic device had given her, but she composed herself enough to pull the cell phone from her back pocket with dirty, paint-stained fingers. The phone had evident smudges all over it from previous contact with her during her business hours.

Checking the caller name, she gave a smile and answered the phone; it was her agent.

"Hello, Gale." she smiled gently, looking over at her painting that was now drying, "I was waiting to hear from you."

Her breezy, light Irish accent was detectable over the phone, and the responding woman on the other end seemed happy to hear from her. Gale, a brisk and business-like woman from New York, had been her 'PR' for almost three years now.

"_Hi Adalyn; I'm so glad I managed to get a hold of you, how are thing? Is the new piece finished yet_?"

Ada looked over at it with a proud smile, "Yeah, I just finished it up; should be dry and ready for shipment in the next few days, but I'd give it a week just to be safe."

"_Excellent, I'll tell Mr Kuja; that can't have been an easy commission, the painting was massive!_"

Wiping her hands on a towel at the corner of the massive easel, Ada gave a happy sound; relieved that it was over but happy to have done her job well, "It wasn't an easy job, but it was worth the time."

An affirmative sound came across the line as Gale gave a 'hmm' noise, before she spoke again, "_I'm glad to hear that. But anyway, there was a reason I called you… I heard back from that curator who's opening that new exhibition in New York_."

Her eyes widened in surprise at the statement, having not really expected to be hearing back from them so soon, but glad that she had; the director had contacted them about a very particular gallery that he was setting up. "You meant the one about the Avenger Dedication?! What did he say?"

"_He spoke to the Avenger's Director, that Nick Fury character; apparently he's managed to get you clearance to stay there. I think that Fury man likes the idea of you being able to show them for the heroes they are; I mean what they did in New York was pretty amazing._"

Ada laughed lightly with her breathy accent, "I'll say. It was all over the news; it's going to be such an honour to work with them! Oh Gale, I cannot thank you _enough_ for getting this job for me! Did they give you any information?"

"_Don't ask me how he did it, but he managed to get in touch with the man in charge of the whole Avengers business! You're in, Ada - they've arranged for you to stay with them for as long as you need; it's probably an attempt to get good press, you know how the bureaucrats are."_

Her heart swelled a little at the statement before smiling, her excitement bubbling in her chest despite her own modesties, "Thank you so much for this…I think I'd better start packing."

"_Just don't forget my percentage of the cut!_" Gale laughed, "_You'll have to go to the curator with all your luggage and everything, because he said there's a whole stack of paperwork and wavers for you to go through before you'll be allowed anywhere near the Avengers._"

"Yeah, I guessed as much…I'll start packing; can you call ahead and tell the curator that my equipment will need transport?"

"_Sure thing._"

"Thanks. I'll talk to you later, Gale."

Hanging up the phone, Ada gave a heavy sigh and put the cell back into her pocket. She then pulled off her apron and tossed it over the back of the chair, shaking her hair from the sloppy bun she'd tied it in.

The room was large and open with massive French windows that opened onto a balcony. The floor was covered in old cloth tarps to protect the flooring from the paints that she had a tendency to throw around while she was working.

Adalyn Doherty was an artist with a very unique gift. She did not paint simply what she saw on the outside. She was talented at being able to paint stories, histories; to paint the symbolisms _behind_ what she really saw. With a father who was of Irish blood, she'd spent her life 'calling it as she saw it' as he'd taught her to. She lived for the chance to see the things that nobody else saw; if she was painting a field, she thought deep into the people that had walked that field, thought of the souls that had existed in it before her; Ada looked behind what she saw to the things that existed within it.

This was what the curator of the new Avengers Dedication exhibition had contacted her agent for; because of her desire and ability to see beyond the stretch of the norm. He wished to paint the Avengers in the most heroic light possible, as a way of gratitude for the incredible saviours they had proven to be in the fight that had occurred in New York. The government had tried to cover it up, with wild lies and the attempts to make the public comfortable; however it failed miserably, given that every person who had witnessed the event rose up in defence of the truth.

Teaming that with the rather…_obnoxious_ Tony Stark's blatant publicity and praise of them, the Avengers were named heroes, and given a commendation for their actions in New York, for saving all the lives that they had that day. She only felt it an honour that she had been the one chosen to be the _featured_ artist in the exhibition; true there was several other artists who had been given the duty of commissioning pieces of their own, but Ada's pieces were…unique.

She saw the world so much differently than any other painter; a gift her father had taught her with that brash Irish blood of his, something she now praised more than ever, given that it was this unique capability that would grant her the chance to actually meet some of the greatest and only heroes that the world had ever seen.

Exiting the large studio, she headed down the hallway to her bedroom. This room was much smaller, given that her workroom had actually been set up in what was supposed to be the master bedroom, but she was happier in the small space. It reminded her more of the house she'd grown up in just outside of North Dublin with her parents.

Reaching down under the bed, Ada pulled out her suitcase and dumped it onto the bed so that she could rummage through her drawers and begin packing her things. Her heart skipped a little, inwardly just a tiny bit nervous about actually coming face to face with the real-deal _Avengers_.

This was going to be the commission of a _lifetime_ for her.

-0-

Paperwork…

There had been _so_ much paperwork; Ada had thought that she might drown in it. There had been all sorts of things that she'd had to sign, including a waver to say that under no circumstances was she to disclose the location of the Avenger Base without authorization; the punishment for breaking this contract would result in a legal prison sentence and a criminal record against the CIA.

Ada, being the honest soul that she was, had no fear of breaking this contract, she had no intentions of being any form of snitch to anyone about the location; her folks had taught her better than that.

The curator had also presented her with the paperwork that allowed him the use of her work in the gallery and that once the commissioned pieces were bought and paid for, she handed rights over to the paying customer. She did have a safety measure on a contract of her own, though; the customer would not be able to copy, redistribute or resell any of her pieces without first obtaining written consent. Also while she was staying among the Initiative, any individual or 'extra' pieces of artwork for any of the Avengers themselves, would be required to sign the same agreement individually for each piece.

While working on this project was both a great honour and a magnificent opportunity, it was still her business work, and Ada was nothing if not professional. Celebrities or not, she would not produce work without knowing that it would be treated appropriately.

"Ready, Miss Doherty?"

The voice of Peter Lars, the gallery museum curator, interrupted her thoughts over the white noise of the helicopter. She looked up and smiled at him with a meek thumbs-up; flying for so long was giving her a massive migraine that was grating her brain.

"Aye sir, ready!" she called over the sound, trying to brush her hair from her face. The curator nodded and gestured to the windshield on the other side of them, indicating that they were about to land.

Lars was a tall Englishman in roughly his mid-50's with salt and pepper grey hair, dressed in a dark business suit with a long jacket. He wore a long white scarf over the ensemble, and very much reminded her of one of her professors from art college. As the two of them stepped off the chopper, her gaze averted to what appeared to be some sort of architecturally designed tower, with sloped glass windows and a protruding space for the helicopter to have landed safely.

Finally the chopper's blades slowed to a complete stop and she was gestured to by one of the men busying themselves on the landing; she was being pointed out.

A heavy feeling sat in her throat as she suddenly took in the form of a bald, dark-skinned man striding confidently from the inside of the building and out onto the landing where they had just arrived, and he was followed by a few agents dressed in standard black uniforms. As they approached, Ada noticed that the man was wearing a dark eye patch over his left eye, covering a rather nasty looking scar.

He approached Lars and the artist with slow, calm and completely collected steps before stopping just in front of the curator. Ada noticed the very subtle sweep that the director gave the older man with his gaze, clearly sizing up and assessing out of habit; an action that she only just managed to catch. Had she not been as attentive as she was, she might not have noticed.

"Mr Lars, pleasure to finally meet you. Welcome to the Tower." The man said smoothly, his voice deep and clearly confident as he shook the curator's hand. He turned to view Ada and she suddenly felt the same piercing, operative gaze sweeping her as he had with Lars. He extended his hand to the young woman, "Miss Adalyn Doherty, I assume? Nick Fury."

With his extended hand, he also offered what she assumed was the best attempt at a polite smile he could manage, she imagined that Nick Fury; director to the Avenger Initiative, was not a man who smiled particularly often. The tenseness in his facial muscles revealed how out of sorts a smile seemed to be for him; it wasn't a natural gesture, evidently just something he was attempting for her benefit. Deciding to play along, Ada smiled at him and gripped his hand firmly.  
"Pleasure, Director and please; call me Ada." She said kindly, her Irish projecting that little bit more like it normally did when she was angry or nervous. She'd be lying if she said the tall, powerful looking man wasn't intimidating; it _was_ his job after all.

He made no sign at having heard her request for the address of her first name, but he did gesture for both Ada and Lars to follow alongside him as he re-entered the tower, redirecting the agents to collect the artist's suitcases and move ahead to wherever her room was going to be. "I understand you'll be our…on-board artist for the next few months. This exhibition is a great honour, a chance to reaffirm the public's faith in us."

Ada looked up at him curiously as they walked, "They hardly seem short of faith, Mr Fury. From what I gather, they're very well loved; not only in America but the whole world."

"Every great artist has their critics, Miss Doherty." Lars said genuinely, making a comparison that she could understand, "While the Avengers have their great many fans, there are those who do not appreciate what they do." He turned to Nick Fury with a serious expression, "What I hope to achieve with this exhibition is a place where people can understand the histories, the stories and _pains_ behind the Avengers, at the same time appreciating their strengths and the power that they are capable of. It will paint them not as faceless guardians, but as mere people protecting other people."

"It's a fine notion, Mr Lars; just don't go makin' us look like easy targets. The _last_ thing we need painted for us, is a target on our backs."

Lars nodded, "And that is what Miss Doherty here is for. She's one of the finest artists you'll find, her work is known for being painted as more than just what she sees. I'm sure you'll find the work most agreeable, I'm looking forward to seeing what she turns out."

Ada saw Nick Fury cast another glance at her, not an intimidating one; just an expression that she guessed as wanting an explanation, so she explained.

"My job is to show the strength of the Avengers, while appealing to the people in showing that you are as much the same as them, despite being _different_. If that…makes sense…?"

Fury nodded and motioned to the helicopter with a smile, "I look forward to seeing you achieve that, Miss Doherty. Mr Lars, while it's been a pleasure; I'm sorry to say you don't have clearance to go any further than this. I'm afraid the security waiver only applies to the girl."

Lars paused in his steps before looking over at Ada and giving a nod, "Understandable, I suppose. I trust her to be in good hands, Miss Doherty your equipment should be arriving shortly, then you can get started."

He extended a hand to her with a genuine smile, which she shook in return, "Thank you, sir. And thank you so much for the honour of doing this."

The Englishman gave a nod and a courteous smile before shaking hands with Fury and saying that he would be contacting again soon for a progress report of Ada's work over the next few months. The museum exhibition wasn't due to open for another 9 to 12 months, as the interior of the building was still being constructed and customised to accommodate the work of the artists that were going into it.

As he was escorted to the helicopter, Nick Fury turned to Ada with his hands behind his back and tipped his head confidently, "Well, Miss Doherty; I think it's about time you met the team."

She felt her heart flutter in anxiety at the idea; she would (_for lack of a better term_) be actually _living_ with some of the world's most famed new celebrities. The Avengers had fans all around the world, most of which had no more chance of meeting them, than of touching the sun itself. "Of course, Director." She said firmly, trying not to let her nerves show through.

Ada had never really been one for idol worship, she did not like the feel that everyday people were any less important than the famous ones, or that they mattered and less. But the Avengers had a name for themselves for reasons other than acting in movies, or signing music industry records…they were famous because they saved people, every day of their lives.

Their fame was not an aspiration for them, it was a reward.

Nick Fury led her through the tower's layout, explaining that it was previously one of the many buildings owned by Stark Industries, and had been 'donated' by Tony Stark himself as a good faith gift in the Avengers, and all the good that they could do.

She was directed to the elevators at the back of the floor that they had landed on, which led into something of a communications facility that Ada found fascinating. She'd tried digital artwork a few times, and failed miserably at each attempt. She was better with a pencil or paintbrush than she would ever be with a pen-tablet or a mouse. In the elevator, Fury seemed to be watching her cautiously from the corner of her eye, and from what Ada could gather he seemed genuinely wary of her.

She wasn't offended by this, because it seemed to be in his very nature. There was a lot of anonymity surrounding the mysterious man who co-ordinated the Avengers; reporters and magazines always seemed so highly desperate to put a face to the name, but the best any of them could manage was a few very vague personality descriptions from the Avengers themselves at various press conferences. She felt more than a little honoured to be there, and as such she perfectly understood the director's wariness of bringing a stranger right into the midst of the team he had obviously worked hard to create. To actually have a face to put to the enigma was both humbling, and unnerving at the same time.

"Here we are."

Fury's voice broke her from her thoughts, and she found herself staring at a bare foyer with a set of double doors opposite the elevator. She suspected that this was some sort of conference room that she would be entering, with _the_ Avengers.

Her stomach did a flip.

The young Irishwoman twisted her fingers into her shirt, suddenly feeling a little underdressed for meeting the world's most sought after modern celebrities. She'd read the basic profiles on all of them, but it was nothing that the public did not already know. Ada had been informed that she would gain access to the more in-depth files and histories of each Avenger once she was on sight and able to use their secured computer systems.

As Nick Fury opened the door for her and gestured for Ada to enter, she stepped in to the conference room to see a large round table branded with their trademark symbol. In the chairs around it, were the forms of four men and a woman, all of their eyes focused on her; each possessing the potential for a thousand questions.

"Avengers, meet Adalyn Doherty." Nick Fury said professionally, motioning to the girl in front of him, "She's the artist from the exhibition project in the museum dedicated to your work. She'll be staying here on sight to learn about us, and what we do here; Miss Doherty is a very unique painter."

Taking a step forward, she felt all eyes on her, and she swallowed thickly.

Each of the present heroes watched her with curious interest of their own. She was dressed in a simple pair of denim jeans, a pair of blue converse sneakers, a black t-shirt and an oversized grey zip up hoody. Her long, dark copper hair was knotted and messy from the wind the helicopter had whipped it up, and a slightly awkward flush was across her cheeks.

"Well, she's pretty; at least you did that for us, Fury. After all, I _do_ like redheads."

Ada's head snapped to the remark at an alarming rate, her eyes widened at the somewhat rude nature of the comment. She saw the dark haired man with facial hair standing with his hands braced against the table with a rather condescending smirk. But she could see the playfulness in his eyes, the way they gleamed with a jesting, complete lack of sincerity in risqué remark. She knew well enough who this very famous, sought after man was. With an embarrassed expression, she crossed her arms in front of her and covered herself in her evident discomfort.

"Tony Stark." She said with a curt nod, watching him carefully.

To her expectation the celebrity grinned in response, an almost _childishness_ reflected in the action. "So I see you've heard of me! Great, we're already off to a _fantastic_ start!" he walked around the circular conference table to where Ada stood, his stride easily portraying confidence and power; but she noticed the gentle friendliness in his face, he reminded her of one of her annoyingly cocky cousins back in Ireland, "That means you'll paint me first, since we have this professional report going on between us and all. For the record, this is my good side."

He turned his chin to the left, revealing the right side of his face to her, before changing his mind and turning it to the other direction.

"Actually wait…maybe…no, they're _both_ my good side." He said cockily.

A scoff was heard from the woman, her coppery curls bouncing as she shook her head. "Stark, do you ever stop being a smartass?" she asked, a husky tone in her voice as she stood and moved around the table to where Ada stood. She pushed past the billionaire with what Ada assessed to be a somewhat endearing expression, like that of an annoyed sibling or friend. Clearly Stark's comments were hardly unusual; something that she could already have partially assessed by what she'd seen of him in tabloids and on the news stations.

"You get used to him." The short haired woman said with a shrug, her expression almost blank as she held out her hand to the painter, "Natasha Romanov."

Ada broke into a smile, a sense of pride filling her as she managed to recall the information she'd read about the spy, "The Black Widow, right?" she asked, pleased with herself at having remembered something.

"Yeah."

The artist tried to ignore the abruptly professional tone and shook hands with the taller woman, shaking her head with an awkward laugh as she turned to Tony, "To be perfectly frank, Mr Stark, I'm not here to paint a 'good side' sir," she said calmly after a quick glance at the other remaining Avengers. Wasn't there supposed to be one with long hair…? The one with the hammer? "…I'm here to paint the _whole_."

The business man gave her a curious look as he furrowed one of his eyebrows at her, arching the other. Her response was not seemingly directed at his crude remarks, in fact she had not reacted to them at all; something he was clearly not used to.

Ada knew his type, all the talk in the world just to get a reaction from others; be it positive or negative. He was like a child wanting attention, and if one simply ignored his baiting comments and did not give in to them, then there would be no audience for said child to try and rile up. She found it amusing, rather than flirtatious or irritating; he was just fishing for a reaction that she would not give him.

The other members of the group seemed to finally start to approach her, first up being the one with a clean shaven face, and very light brown hair; Clint, he called himself. She knew him by his profile as 'Hawkeye' and once she realized that he was the team's archer, she guessed that was why. He moved with sharp, precisely light movements; his eyes alert and clearly taking in every detail about her in vivid recollection. She wouldn't have been surprised if he could pin a fly to the wall with his gaze, it was sharp just like the arrows he wielded.

He reminded her very much of an eagle, graceful and not without power, but far more suited to agility and speed.

The next to approach her was the one named Steve Rogers, who she watched the steps of very carefully; he was very interesting indeed.

He had to be six feet tall, without question; and he possessed a great deal of muscle that was easy to define through the shirt that seemed just a tad too snug for him. But despite his obvious size and blatantly clear strength, he carried himself in a way that was just the opposite. Ada noticed the gentle footing, the seemingly slender grace with which he moved, like that of someone half his size. And the gentleness with which he shook her hand was a surprise as well, something she had not expected at all. There was a genuine goodness in his eyes that she did not doubt for a second, an almost…_gentlemanly_ air about him.

Natasha Romanov was the one that Ada found the most difficult to read, because from what she had read; the spy was a master when I came to portraying false emotions. She felt it would be impossible to actually comprehend the woman's personality from that singular meeting, and in a brief moment she found herself glad that she would be staying among them for such a long period of time, because she was genuinely _excited_ to learn about them.

The last one to approach her was the one she knew as Dr Bruce Banner, she'd read in the file that he was a brilliant gamma-ray scientist; not something she'd fully understood, but she acknowledged that it was something to be admired.

The way that his hand clasped hers as he shook it in greeting told her that he held a lot back. The tension wiring his shoulders in his stance was almost concerning, like he was constantly bracing himself from the inside out. Very little had been in the file she'd read, something about requiring confidentiality on the doctor's 'dual' nature. However a Google search of the Avengers on her home computer had revealed that Bruce Banner did not appear in any of the photos taken in action; instead a larger behemoth with green skin was what appeared. She could only safely assume that the doctor also wielded the power of what was called 'The Hulk' by the press.

She saw a very intense exhaustion in the eyes of Bruce Banner, but at the same time there was a great deal of seemingly acceptant peace. He definitely had a genuine air about him, with his soft spoken tone and clear knowledge behind him; Ada found herself thinking that she would be able to get along quite well with him.

But she couldn't help noticing the missing team member.

"Director Fury…?" she asked politely, pushing a few strands of her hair from out of her face, "I thought that there were six members of the Avengers… Wasn't there one with a hammer?"

Nick Fury nodded calmly, his hands poised behind his back coolly, "Thor. Yeah, I'm sure you remember the ordeal in New York 2 years ago; what with the alien invasions and such. The man behind it was Loki, Thor's brother, and he was taken back to where he belongs; a place called Asgard-"

Ada gave a giggle, snickering at the word, to which Fury gave her an obviously confused look. So she thought that perhaps an explanation was in order. "I'm sorry, that just…sounded like something my Dad would use to describe pants or something…You know, an '_Ass Guard_' or something?" she giggled again, then stopped when she realized that Fury was looking at her with a blank expression, clearly not finding the humour in the idea.

Damn her crude Irish blood!

She slowed her laughed to a choking cough, feeling her cheeks burning with embarrassment at her rather immature joke. "Uh…sorry about that. Irish humour, I suppose." She cleared her throat again, catching gazes with Tony Stark, who at least seemed to be personally amused by her immature remark, that was _some_ comfort, "A…anyway…I uh…it's been a real honour meeting you all face-to-face like this, but I think I'd better go and organize my things. If you wouldn't mind showing me to my…uh…room? Director Fury?"

Looking to his team, the man in question then gave a nod, pretending to ignore the deadly awkward silence that was emanating from the girl, her cheeks blazing violently. "Of course Miss Doherty, this way."

She cast a glance at the famous Avengers one last time before following the Director out of the conference room with a relieved sigh. The most influential and honouring meeting of her entire career…and she made an ass joke.

_Smooth, Ada…real smooth_…

-0-

Ada's things had already been delivered to her room when she arrived, her personal suitcases waiting for her to unpack. Nick Fury had told her that he would send for her when her equipment arrived at the tower, so that she could begin shifting it into the room that would be acting as her studio. They had cleared out one of the spare gym areas given that she'd requested a large area of space to be able to work freely, and that it had to be well lit. The gym that they had provided her was large, with big fluorescent lights across the ceiling and a sunken level that normally acted as the sparring mats had been replaced with cloth tarps on the floor to provide her an area to store the easels, paintboxes and supplies that she would be using over the next 6 to 8 months.

The room that she had been given as her personal quarters was more like a very small apartment; possibly a guest area that they used for government or military officials when they stayed on base for routine inspections or such things; Ada couldn't be certain but either way it gave her a nice living space.

It had a very small bedroom with only _just_ enough space for a double bed and side tables. One of the walls was a sliding door robe for storage of clothing, and the drawers in the side tables would be useful storage space as well. The kitchen was fully equipped, but small, and was openly joined with the dining room/lounge room which was basically just a small round dining table with three chairs, a two person sofa and a television mounted on the wall. It was very tiny, but Ada found it perfect and quaint.

She fell in love with it immediately.

Ada had spent some time learning where everything was, and was delighted to find that the cupboards were fully stocked with teas, cereals and cooking basics, as well as having milk, eggs and other essentials in the fridge; any specific items however, she would probably have to pick up herself later on. It had been about two or three hours after her arrival, while she was packing away her clothing into the drawers, that she heard a knock at the door of her quarters.

Pulling her hair up into a sloppy ponytail, she abandoned her suitcases and opened the door with the expectation of seeing Nick Fury; however a young, slender woman with dark brown hair in a bun and a black uniform was there instead. She smiled at Ada and held out her hand, "Miss Doherty? I'm Agent Maria Hill, the Director sent me to show you down to collect your things for pick-up."

Ada gave a smile and shook hands with the woman, she seemed quite friendly. "Ada, pleasure to meet you." she enthused, following the agent out the door and towards the elevator at the end of the foyer room, trying to ignore the hub going on in the building around them. "I hope transporting it all wasn't too much trouble…"

Maria shook her head with a laugh as they entered the elevator, "No, not at all. We just sent one of the trucks to collect your equipment, it wasn't any trouble at all. But I'm afraid I haven't got the time to actually help you move it all; I'll be showing you where the trucks are and where they'll need to be moved to, but I'm backlogged with logistics at the moment. Don't worry though, they've set it all up on trolleys and in crates, and the freight elevator will take you right up to where the gym studio is ready for you, you'll just have to make a few trips back and forth to get it."

Ada shrugged with a grin, hoping to easy the evident guilt that Agent Hill was portraying for not being able to lend a hand, "Works for me, aye, believe me it beats trekking through Ireland with a fold-up easel strapped to your back! That was a chiropractic _nightmare_ let me tell you!"

"Which part of Ireland?"

"North Dublin," Ada said with an awkward rub of her neck, "I wouldn't ever recommend going out at night there, unless you're a local who knows the people. It gets pretty dangerous."

Maria gave a smile and watched the floor numbers as they came up on the little screen while the elevator descended. "Well, we're not exactly danger free around here."

Ada giggled, "Touché. That's a fair point, I suppose."

As the elevator doors opened into the underground parking lot, Ada was greeted with the sight of a large military style truck parked a short ways from the elevator with the back raised, her equipment was in the back.

"Well, I hate to leave you, but I'm on a tight ship." Maria said apologetically, "Director Fury showed you the studio you'd be in didn't he?"

Ada nodded, "Yeah, I'll be fine; I'll use the trolley pallets over there. Thanks so much Agent Hill."  
The darker haired woman nodded, "Not at all. The freight elevator is just on the other side over there. Take that up to the 16th floor, that's where all the gyms and training rooms are, your studio is in Training Room 4 which is literally your fourth door on the left once you come out of the elevator."

With the artist appeased and perfectly content to complete the task on her own, Maria bid her a goodbye and left to finish her other work. Ada was left to load up easels and canvases onto the equipment provided so that she could charter it up to the room it needed to be in. The work was laborious and time consuming how long it took to take the elevator up and then back down, but Ada didn't mind. It gave her time to think, and to observe.

There was training going on in only one of the other gyms, from what she could hear; and if the yells and thuds were anything to go by, it was probably one of the Avengers themselves. The idea that she was in the same building as them was surreal, it would definitely take some getting used to.

On her fourth trip to the parking lot, Ada made the mistake of not paying attention to what she was doing, and as a result she ended up backing away from the truck with an armful of paints and brushes and tripping over the very pallet trolley that she was trying to load up. A tin of her oil paint went belly up and splattered all over the trolley, and her clothes. In the haphazard confusion and surprise, she fell to the floor and ended up hitting the trolley with the full force of her body. It careened back and into a cement pillar, a resounding and deafening metallic crash rocking through the lot.

Covered in splatters of coloured paint, she groaned in complaint at her own actions; that much oil paint was _expensive_, and her clothing would be ruined. Oil paints didn't just come out in the wash, they were _oil_ based after all.

"Ah crap and potatoes!" she squealed in horror, lifting her hands in horror at the sight of red oils paint smeared on her jeans and her jacket, some of it seeping on to her t-shirt as she shifted and dropped the paint container clumsily. A groan escaped her as she bent down to pick it up and replace the lid, feeling how empty it now was. Huffing, she pulled off her jacket to wipe her hands on and wiped up as much of the paint from the concrete as she could, but she cringed at the remnant stains that it had left behind.

It looked like someone had _died_ down there.

With a heavy sigh, Ada placed the stack of paintboxes on the trolley pallet and reached for the handle to pull it towards the freight elevator and continue moving her stuff.

…But it didn't move.

Leaning down to inspect it, she saw one of the front wheels, where the pillar had connected with it, which had snapped the hinge that held it on.

Cursing her clumsy feet, the young Irishwoman scooped the stack of boxes into her arms and groaned at the weight of them. She would have to make at least three or four trips back and forth now, rather than the one or two it would have taken loading up the pallet. Struggling to maintain her balance, Ada pressed the button for the elevator with her elbow and waited for the door to open so that she could step into it.

Leaning against the wall of the lift, she waited –somewhat– patiently as the floors went up to the one she needed. As the doors opened for her, Ada slowly sidled out whilst trying to maintain her balance with the stack of boxes, her jeans feeling gritty from the paint that had surely begun to seep through the denim and onto her leg.

As she shuffled off in the direction of the gym she was setting up in, she felt one of the top paintboxes sliding over, putting the stack off balance. She couldn't see ahead of her, and was trying to turn sideways and find a wall to push it against, to put it back into place. As she turned and tried to navigate her way, a cry escaped her from the sudden feeling of the wooden containers slipping from her control.  
"Ah, no, no, no!" she gasped, not wanting another mess from her paints to be splattered all over the floor; particularly now that she was _indoors_ rather than in the underground carpark. "Whoa –!"

Her desperate yelp was cut short as she felt the boxes steady and the feeling of lacking control suddenly cease. What had...stopped them?  
"Be careful there."

The sound of a deep, American voice made its way to her ears, and curiously she tried to view the source. Half of the stack of paintboxes were lifted from her grasp, and revealed the tall form of the man she'd been introduced to her as…

"Captain Rogers?" she asked, her eyes widened in surprise and slight embarrassment as she recalled the way she'd been stumbling around and making a quite likely ass of herself only seconds before. Ada was sure that she'd looked _quite_ ridiculous backing out of an elevator with an arm full of wooden boxes of paints and brushes.

"Looked like you could use a hand, ma'am." He said kindly, shifting the wooden objects under one arm. It gave Ada just an inkling as to just how strong he must have been, because the crates were not exactly _light_ to carry.

Realizing that she was gawking in surprise at the helpful offer, she choked her words in her throat and shook her head to clear her mind, smiling at him brightly, "Aye, thank you! 'Preciate that, I'm Ada." Suddenly she paused, "Oh…wait…you already knew that...uh…_Captain_. Sorry!"

Ada felt herself becoming embarrassed, making a fool out of herself in front of a man who had probably led more battles than she'd painted canvas. He carried himself with an air of genuine capability, an assurance of self that she saw in very few people.

"No problem, where do you need these?" he smiled, looking for all the world like a polite young gentleman, something that greatly surprised Ada.

"Uh…Training Room 4, Agent Hill said that they'd cleared it out for me to paint in, mind you I haven't had much of a chance to actually _organize_ it yet."

With a nod, Captain Rogers made towards the assigned training room as the shorter Irishwoman fell into step beside him with half the paintboxes carried in her grasp. The hall was silent for a few moments before Ada decided to try and ease the awkwardness that only she seemed to be feeling. It was like trying to make conversations with a new boss or colleague; after all he _was_ something of a superior to her.

"I hope I'm not keeping you from anything important…? I mean, it's just some boxes and easels; I'm sure you've got a whole list of things that you should be doing other than lugging art supplies back and forth."

He looked down to her, realizing that the redhead was a fair bit shorter than him. Her eyes were a dark green, questioning and sincere, she was not being snide or mocking with the comment about him having better things to do, it was more of a _genuine_ concern that she was keeping him from something. In a way, it reminded him of how he was before his procedure during the war; the one that had turned him into the strong, well-famed powerhouse that he was today.

He looked at the boxes in his arms as they walked and shrugged nonchalantly, "I was in the first training room down the hall, I was just finishing up when I saw you coming out of the freight elevator. You got a collection going on down there or what?" he gave her a smirk out of the corner of his eye, and Ada couldn't help but feel a sense of almost boyish mischief coming from him; a good sense of humour was something that she liked to see in people.

"I'll need to take another trip or two more actually…I have a lot of equipment, I'm going to be here for a while after all."

Rogers nodded thoughtfully as he opened the door for her to enter the training room with all her things in it, noticing the way she appeared rather embarrassed and taken aback by the rather chivalrous gesture. "Well, I'd be happy to help bring everything up for you. How long is it that you're planning to stay exactly? I mean, this is a lot of stuff." He motioned to the stacks of blank canvases, drawing pads, assorted sized easels, cloth tarps and mountainous set of paintbrushes, "Do you really need _all_ this?"

Ada put the paint boxes down and turned to him with a smile. "Different tool for every job. I can't go using my oil paintbrushes for my watercolour paints, or my small easels for a massive wall-sized canvas; everything has a different purpose, just like I would imagine every Avenger has different capabilities, strengths and weaknesses. I-"

"-Are you _bleeding_?!" he asked suddenly, his blue eyes narrowing intensely as he was able to view the stained jacket now that her arms were freed up. The alarm in his voice frightened her for a second, he spoke with the readiness and urgency of someone who had seen people wounded many a time over. Desperately trying to reassure the battle-hardened war hero, she shook her head and waved her hands around in front of her urgently in a 'no' gesture.  
"Oh, no, no! I – it's oil paint. I had an accident with the trolley pallet down in the parking lot, and I ended up losing half of my nicest red oil paint. I'm fine, truly sir…uh -_Captain_- I mean."

As she took the pile of boxes from the man's arms and placed them with the others, Ada smiled and made her way back to the door with an embarrassed expression. Politely ignoring the red across her cheeks, Steve decided not to try and correct her calling him 'Captain' for the time being, she seemed thoroughly tired and bothered by her current predicament, and he did not know her particularly well. Professionalism was probably what she wanted at present, so he decided to simply shrug to himself and follow her back into the hall, falling into step beside the young lady.

"So, what exactly are you here to paint? Not to mean this offensively at all, ma'am, but why couldn't you have just found some pictures or photographs to work from; isn't that what painters do?"

Ada gave a shrug and a somewhat embarrassed smile as she tried to explain, "It's…hard to say exactly, without it sounding stupid. I…I don't just paint what I _see_. What I do is immerse myself in the story behind what I'm painting, to try and express the past or personality in it. What I'm hoping to achieve for you and your friends, is the understanding of your histories. You know, the things you've all experienced; the things that _drive_ you. That's why I'm staying in the tower, because that way I can get to know each of you and what sort of painting will best express your individual stories and personalities. Wow…that sounds really _silly_ when I say it out loud."

"No, no I get it." Steve reassured her with a professional smile, "It makes sense, I guess I just don't know why they'd go to so much trouble of finding someone to paint such detailed stuff."

The elevator stopped on the parking lot level and the two stepped out, Ada leading the way to the back of the almost empty truck to collect the last of her things. The Captain noticed the large patch of what was evidently the red paint she'd spilt beforehand, but gallantly chose to ignore making mention of it. Instead he followed Ada to the back of the truck and watched as she took an armful of things into her grasp.

Among them was a roll of canvas tarp, a few more boxes of paints and brushes, and a very ratty looking old towel, covered in dried paint splotches. Steve raised an eyebrow with a small, somewhat cheeky smile as he gestured to the cloth before easily picking up another batch of her equipment.

"Guinea pig rag?" he asked with an amused tone, noticing the way Ada looked down at it and gave a sheepish little shrug, her lip quirked up in just a hint of an amused smile.

"Better the towel than my canvas." She smiled honestly, "If I'm going to be painting people like you and your friends, I need to get it right the first time, don't I?"

Giving a nod of his head slightly in agreement as they approached the freight elevator, Steve decided that the Irish accent of the painter was quite pleasant to listen to; it was human nature for their ears to tune in to anything that sounded _different_, and he had to admit that during his time in the second World War there had been very few people (_if any at all for that matter_) who he'd met that had been of Irish descent. He would also be lying if he said he wasn't curious as to see exactly what she was capable of as an artist, after all if she was going to be the featured artist of the Avengers Exhibition museum, she would need to be able to do them justice.

"So…think you can show me some of your work you'll be doing while you're here?" he asked genuinely, watching the numbers on the elevator climbing. Ada turned to him with a wide-eyed, earnestly intrigued expression as she watched him, shrugging embarrassedly before she finally answered.

"Captain, if you help me set up, I'll give you the grand tour."

**I DO NOT plan to update this ANY time soon, because as I said; I have several other stories on my plate to finish first. But anyhow, I would love to hear what you guys thought of this one; Ada is already proving to be one of my favourite characters :)**

**There is a picture of her on my Deviantart, if you wish to go and have a look, my username is UlurNaga on their as well.**

**Ciao!**


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